Angel with the Scabbed Wings Part IV:If You Needed
by Ryanne 187
Summary: Against the wishes of family and the cruel whims of fate, Shawn and Smith find a place to call home. Shawn/OC WARNING: BDSM/Kink


_Authors Notes : This is the fifth in my "Songs, Stories and Shawn" collection, and the final in my 'Angel With The Scabbed Wings' saga._

_This is a VERY AU version of real events. I re-wrote history a little to make it better fit to the series. This is also a more indepth character study of them both. _

_Again, Ill stress that this is a very **MATURE **story containing slight **BDSM and Kink**. Cases of "Ewwwies" please make with the back button. _

_I Enjoyed writing Smith as much as I hope that you will enjoy reading her. _

_ R_

**Angel With the Scabbed Wings IV: If You Needed Somebody**

_"If you needed somebody, like the way that I need you  
If you wanted somebody, like the way that I want you, yeah Oh yeah, the way that I want you  
If I could hold you tonight, it would last me forever But the time's never right, when will we be together"  
_

The table in the New York penthouse was oak, sturdy, and expensive. Smith settled back in her chair and put her feet on it, her shitkickers dirty. She tapped the claws of her gauntlet against the chair arm.

Finally, the last person to join the meeting she'd been summoned to joined them. She was pissed anyway, the sound of her beeper this morning almost disturbed her pets sleep.

Smith looked around. Six seats surrounded the ornate rectangle. All were filled but the head of the table. She greeted them with a bored smile.

"Daniel, Delaney, Darius, and Diana. To what to I owe this unique pleasure."

"Devyn, you know why." Daniel barked.

The five St. James children sat facing each other, all dark green eyes and black hair. Daniel was the eldest, a proper New York gentleman, playing tycoon. He lived in this house with his trophy wife, three kids, and went to all the best parties. Tonight he looked like Micheal Douglas in that movie "Wall Street". His tie was pink. Devyn shuddered. Pink. She knew her nieces and nephews were being cared for by a governess that night. Daniel hated Devyn near his children, and Devyn hated that, but supposed she deserved it.

Of course, the family business their father had left them was anything but gentle, and Devyn resented his hypocrisy.

Delaney was the families accountant. She was tall like Devyn, but thats where the similarities ended. Delaney worked in a high rise office, plush with high grade computers and all the best in clothes. Tonight she wore her hair in a chignon, her makeup earth tones. Her navy blue Chanel pantsuit reflected her taste, as did the mink coat that hung in the closet. Laney and Devyn had fought bitterly about it, Devyn being an animal lover. Daniel had warned Devyn not to retaliate against her sister, but knew in the end, there was nothing he could do. The look on the youngest St. James child told it all.

She lived in a small house in New Milford, and was on her third husband. Devyn laughed at that. Can't keep any relationships together, but had the nerve to look down her nose at Devyn.

Diana was meek and mild, being a housewife in Connecticut. Greenwich. Devyn wasn't allowed near Diana and her husband Marcus' kids either. She wore a matching sky blue plaid sweater set and a light blue skirt. She'd left Marcus with their five children, and everyone could see she was itching to get back to them. Especially her youngest, who was only weeks old.

Devyn looked over at her twin, Darius. He was most like her. Of course, she knew him best. She was the one who armed him. Darius "The Executioner" St. James was the families eliminator. When the others didn't want to get their hands dirty, they called Darius. He operated out of a project in Queens, and he sat beside her with his own shitkickers on the table. His white hair was sticking straight up in a Mohawk, and the rest of him looked like a street punk.

Devyn smiled sardonically at Darius. It was the two of them that held together their father Donovan St. James empire. The top of the American Irish Mafia. The Black Dagger they'd called him back in the home country. Donovan had been in the IRA, and the family was said to be descended from Micheal Collins himself. Not that Devyn gave a shit about that.

In the end, Donovan had ended up being the head of the workings here, though he never forgot his roots. He was a weapons maker who never gave up the practice.

Shier mother, Lisa, had died giving birth to the twins, when Daniel was 25, Delaney 17, and Diana 14. The late pregnancy was a shock to Lisa, and the doctors had encouraged her to terminate given her advanced age. Lisa refused, and paid with her life. For the next 14 years, Donovan had raised the twins on his own, while his three eldest went to college, got married, had babies.

He paid special attention to Darius and Devyn, and she had loved her father dearly. His death from cancer had hit Devyn hard, so she became everything her father taught her with the single mindedness of a person who had decided to never love anyone again. Her hair trigger temper and black rages scared even Daniel. Darius was no better.

In the end, the two had become the living legacy of the St. James patriarch. One a killer, one a weapon. Two ruthless, bloodthirsty 18 year olds, skilled and cold to the bone.

Daniel had done the best he could, but Darius and Devyn raised each other for the next four years, and now worked in conjunction. Shier two factions provided the very foundation on which the eldest lived off, and they were afforded leeway to live their depraved lives away from the main family unit. Which was just fine with them.

Daniel clearing his throat brought both Darius and Devyn to his attention, and they both stared him down with almost glowing eyes. "What the fuck do you want Daniel? I don't have time for this shit." Devyn barked, and Darius laughed darkly, tossing his main black dagger, designed for him by Devyn, a perfect replica of their fathers, which had been buried with him.

"Do you have to be so crude Devyn?" Diana squeaked.

"Stuff it Princess," Devyn hissed. "Don't you have some more kids to pop out or somethin?"

"Dammit Devyn, this is NOT one of your gang banger meetings in that warehouse!" Daniel boomed, and received nothing but a derisive snort for his trouble.

"Do I have to remind you whats also in that warehouse Danny?" Devyn said dryly.

"Devyn, this is about your goddamned love life." Daniel smacked the table.

"I TOLD you that the way I live was none of your fucking business." Daniel shook his head.

"Devyn, this isn't about the disgusting way you live....it's the who you're now living it WITH."

"What the fuck are you getting at Danny?" Devyn hissed, sitting forward, a really bad feeling settling in her stomach.

"We know about the wrestler." Daniel said dryly.

"How the fuck is that any of your goddamned business Danny, I TOLD you to stay the hell out of my way, and I meant it!" Devyn planted her hands on the table as she shot up, making deep grooves in the table with her claws.

"You cannot keep him Devyn!" Daniel shouted. "I know all about this life you lead, and although it makes me sick, I've left you alone. But you go too far. He's famous, and did you ever think about the danger you're exposing him to?"

"I can handle it Daniel."

"Must you live like that?" Diana cut in. She instantly regretted it.

"Must YOU live like you're in a Norman Rockwell painting?" Devyn hissed, turning cold eyes toward her estranged sister. "ENOUGH!" Daniel barked. "You WILL get rid of him Devyn."

Devyn sneered at Daniel, and withdrew her anthme, burying it in the expensive furniture.

"I will do whatever the FUCK I want!" She claws gripped the knife, prepared to do even a physical battle with her eldest brother.

"Really?" Daniel crossed the room, lighting up a cigarette. His wife Amanda hated him smoking, so he only did it when he had to.

"Do you wanna tell him who you are Devyn? Who your family is? How old you really are? Do you wanna tell him whats in that warehouse, or what you do with it? Come ON Devyn, I'm not doing this to be unreasonable. You KNOW you can't keep a pet with a high profile. What the hell were you thinking in the first place?"

Devyn marched over to Daniel, and looked into eyes that were the exact color of her own, but meant nothing to her.

"Do you want your precious 'pet' to know exactly why you're "The Blacksmith?"

Her voice a dead crack in the room, Devyn picked up her coat. "Daniel, you and the two Park Avenue idiots stay the fuck out of my business. Or perhaps I'll show YOU what being "The Blacksmith" really is." Darius gave a similar sneer before getting up as well. They never stayed entire meetings and always left together. The three eldest took deep breaths. They didn't know how to control their erstwhile siblings, they didn't know if that were even possible.

They heard a rustling sound, and a peal of laughter before the twins stuck their heads back in.

"Your coat Madame." Darius laughed, and they threw in Delaney's mink coat. In pieces.

Delaney's piercing screams were satisfying as hell.

Devyn and Darius walked down to the parking lot, and with silent looks, climbed onto their respective motorcycles.

"Well, that went well." Darius laughed.

"Does it ever?"

"You gonna get rid of Michaels?" Darius inquired.

Devyn looked down.

"I don't think I have any other choice." She looked at her twin, and he understood.

They nodded at each other, and roared off into the night. One into New York Cities projects, one into the warehouse in the projects of middle Connecticut. Where Smith lived, and Devyn was just a name on a birth certificate.

**xBx**

The warehouse was dark as Smith entered. She pulled in, and upon opening the main door, looked around. Her home, her liar. She sighed, and went over to the back wall.

She threw off her trench coat, and pulled off her t shirt, her black tank top underneath revealing her knife strapped to her arm, and the full length of the gauntlet. She walked to the end of the wall, opening a panel by twisting a Chinese star. She keyed in a complicated code into the glowing pad and watched the entire back wall split open.

The swords and daggers, the decorative lances and stars gave way to an entire secondary house. Row after row of weapons hanging on neat pegs, tagged by date, names, types.

Machine guns, pistols, assault rifles, rocket launchers, all cleaned and hung on hooks all the way to the ceiling. Crates of ammunition, a computer in the back to organize security and to inventory the sales and the names of the buyers. Encrypted files kept the information safe as it was saved onto hard disks and sent to Daniel.

Smith looked up into her collection, the crown jewels of the entire St. James family. The gathering of arms. She was a dealer of death, and a cold enabler of extreme violence. Closing her eyes, she felt a part of her she thought was dead give a twinge of pain.

"I'm sorry Shawn."

She put his collar in a box, locking it, and had a broken heart tattooed on her hip.

**xBx**

_July 5th, 1998_

Hunter felt a blast of cold as he walked into his hotel room. He hadn't turned the air on, so he didn't understand where it was coming from. Until a light flipped on.

"Been awhile hasn't it?"

He whirled around, and there she was. Illuminated by the the overhead lighting and seeming to take over the room, was a person who he hadn't seen for nearly a year. And to be honest, he liked it that way.

She hadn't changed much. Her head was mostly shaved, save one two inch wide strip, which was braided down the center and dyed a bright red. The bangs were just two long black pieces that tucked behind her ears. She had black wraparound sunglasses on, tipped down to reveal her cold dark green eyes.

She had on a Nine Inch Nails tshirt, and leather pants, which ended in steel toed shitkickers. Three wallet chains, a studded belt and her gauntlet tapping against the wall. Her ax earrings swung from her ears. Lip, eyebrow, nose rings all twinkling in the light. She licked her black lips, and took a deep breath. "Before you insult me with screams for help or trying to rush me yourself, which you know full well would be a mistake, I'd sit the fuck down." Hunter backed away from her and sat on the end of the bed.

"What do you want"  
"I have only one question. Where's Shawn?" Smith pierced him with her gaze.

"What do you care? You took off, and left him alone. Alots happened."

"You think I don't know that?!" Smith yelled. "You think that shit was easy for me? I didn't wanna leave anymore than he wanted me to, but I had to protect him."

"They were right..." Hunter breathed.

"Of course they were. You ain't stupid Hunter, you knew I was everything they said I was, and so did Shawn. But it was dangerous, and I couldn't keep him safe. "

"Whats changed?"

"I made some changes. Took me awhile to fix things, but I did," She ran her claws down the wallpaper, leaving gouges in the wall, "Now.....where...is...Shawn."

"Home. In San Antonio." Hunter told her.

"You will call him. Now. You will tell him that you're coming in three days. You will NOT mention me, and you will NOT sound coerced. Do it now."

Hunter picked up the hotel phone, and made the call. It was late, but Shawn answered, and after giving the message, and receiving a surprised but happy response, hung up the phone.

"There. Now what?" Hunter looked towards her. She was already sliding her trench coat on, and walking across the room.

"Now, you learn two things. Lock your windows from now on...oh and," She turned as she approached the balcony, her eyes deadly calm, "Word the wise....watch your fuckin mouth. You let your jealousy jump into your mouth one more time, and I'll jump up in your grille. We clear?"

It wasn't a question that needed a verbal answer. He nodded. Sliding her glasses up her nose, she jumped off the third story balcony, and landed on her feet, not even stopping to look back. Hunter watched in awe as she simply climbed onto her bike and roared off. He took a deep breath, and shivered at the cold that seemed to drift out with her.

Hunter sagged against the bed, whiskey eyes staring at the gouges in the wall. Truth was, for all his strength, she was a different story. One look from her eyes and it made you feel like you were looking at your own grave.

He hoped the call he'd made to Shawn wasn't one he'd end up regretting.

**xBx**

_"If I could hold you tonight, it would last me forever  
But the time's never right, when will we be together, oh no  
If I could make you understand, what you're doing to me  
Maybe there will come a time, when sooner or later I will make you see, baby."_

_July 9th, 1998_

Shawn Michaels looked at himself in the mirror. He'd been shocked at the call from Hunter saying he was coming for a visit. Seemed out of the blue. But any company was good company.

He was so lonely. This was such a big house, and it echoed it's incomplete nature to him. After Smiths disappearance and his subsequent problems, he'd become nothing but a drug addicted shell.

The somas he'd been taking for years had become something sinister. He couldn't stop taking them, and he didn't think it was for just the pain anymore. Sure he was in plenty of it, but he also took it to sleep, to get up, to function. Some days he just lay there staring at the ceiling, wondering why he bothered. He missed it all. So much. All the lights and clapping. All the shows and his abilities. One little badly timed bump and his entire life had come crashing down on him.

Not that things had been easy. First there was that horrid business in Montreal. God, he had a funny feeling that was going to haunt him forever. His title reigns had been mired in controversy, and he enjoyed very little. Then that long work with Austin. God, he'd been so angry, forced to work this program with someone that made him sick.

And Smith, he missed her. She'd just stood him up one night. Vanished. And there went the only person he'd ever felt something strong with, something worthwhile with. He couldn't understand it. Although the police telling him she was an 18 year old suspected of arms dealing helped, but not really. He'd known all along that they were right. God, he was 34, pining away after a 19 year old killer. And worse, his wires had gotten crossed sexually. He hadn't had an orgasm since she'd left. Eight long months, and nothing. No feeling, no drive. He was so frustrated.

He was pale. For him. He spruced up the best he could. Brushed his long golden brown hair, which he hadn't cut, so it now reached the middle of his back. Put on clean clothes. As he was standing there, Shawn heard a noise. A loud roaring coming down the long dirt road that led to his ranch.

He rushed outside. And blinked his bluegreen eyes several times.

The sun distorted the image as it sank, wavering the picture. A big motorcycle rolling in a cloud of brown dust in the distance. It got closer and closer. He was finally hallucinating he decided, and ran inside. He got a cold beer out of the fridge and downed it fast, until he heard the roaring get louder and louder, then roll to a stop.

He heard big footfalls on his porch, then a scratching of metal on the windows. The more he wouldn't answer, the more scratching was made, getting higher and higher in pitch. It was grating. He held his ears, but it sounded in his head. Finally, he had to stop the sound. He threw open the door, and got a shock, then got assaulted.

Smith in all her gothic glory stood in his door, dust gathered on her black wraparound glasses. She whipped them off, tossing them on his kitchen table from the door.

"God, you're more beautiful than I remember." She growled.

Before Shawn got over his initial shock, he was shoved with a metal hand into the house, and his lips were being crushed, a metal lipring slightly cutting the skin.

"Smith...." Shawn tried to protest, he was angry, really angry, but he was hard and achy. He hadn't felt this hot since she left.

"Fight later pet, fuck now..." She whispered against his ear.

'Pet'. That word reverberated somewhere in his body and ignited a fire. She pulled his shirt out of his jeans and over his head, then undid the zipper.

Smith swept the kitchen table clear of everything it had on it, backing him onto it. It was strong and sturdy, and she laid him out. She scented him hard, inhaling eight long months of separation. Licked down his neck. Smirked as she realized he was no longer working. Perfect. She bit down on his neck, and he cried out. She sucked at the exquisite taste of his flesh, moaning at its perfection.

Shawn felt the deep sting of the bite, something they'd always wanted. Oh my GOD yes. Before he noticed, she had stripped off her boots and leathers, and had him laid out on his table, with his shirt on the ground and his jeans around his ankles.

"Smith!" Shawn yelled. "I...I...I'm....PLEASE!" He begged

"Yes, I know, I'm gonna take care of you baby." She got up on the table and straddled him, taking his hard dick into her hands aligning it with her wetness, and impaled herself.

"AHHH FUCK!!" Shawn screamed. Oh yes...yes. Oh please.

"Yesssssssss...." Smith leaned down to lick at his neck. However, she didn't move. Just let him pulse inside her.

He whimpered and tried to move her, but she wouldn't budge. Then he saw why. She had brought up his collar. She didn't even ask, just yanked his head up by his hair and locked the red leather into place on his neck, turning the key into place.

She placed the key around her neck, and licked her lips, wrapping the already attached leash around her fist.

"Pet." She whispered harshly in his ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth. "Ahhhhhhh...." Shawn felt something pop in his head. The hole in his chest that had been there since she left filling like a balloon. The fire that had been gone escaping the inner reaches of his mind and roaring through his veins like he'd injected a shitload of heroin at once. He felt every moment of sexual frustration come to the surface, making every nerve in his body hyper aware.  
"That's right Pet..." She moaned, and yanked him up so he had to brace himself with one arm behind him.

Then she began to move, grabbing his flesh at his hip with her claws and causing little flashes of pain to bubble up. Shawn felt like he'd already come, but he hadn't. It was just so good.

She yanked harder and rode faster, taking him hard and rough, biting at his lower lip, his jaw, licking all over the skin of his throat and neck. She buried her face in the silken strands of his beautiful hair. He squeezed her ass, until he realized his place and let go.

"No, do it, squeeze." Smith encouraged, feeling him shake all over. He was close.

"Ahhhh....oh FUCK YES....Mistress....Smith....oh GOD, I think..." Shawn moaned deliriously. He felt like he was going to just split in half. She was tight, wet, and on fire hot. She was working herself up and down, yanking his eyes to hers.

"Let it go pet....come on....give me your orgasm..." Smith ordered in his ear, then licked down to the juncture between his neck and shoulder, and bit down.

That was it.

Shawn felt it coming from every cell. Every place in his body just gathered up energy and he scratched the table, staring into glowing green eyes. Then it hit. He plowed his hips upwards, slapping his body together with hers. His balls tightened, and little screams and sobs escaped his mouth and throat as he came. Came hard. Came so hard he couldn't stop it. Frothy white fluid filled her up, and ran down the sides of his hips.

Smith answered his call with a sustained screech, her body clenching and releasing around his shaft. She shook with him, floating in space for long moments.

"I'm so sorry Shawn..." She whispered shakily into his ear, letting him lay on the table and rest. To her shock, he ran his hand softly up her back and nuzzled into her throat.

"God, I'm so very sorry." And with her clawed hand holding his head to her, Devyn "The Blacksmith" St. James felt tears sting her eyes for the first time in more than five years.

**xBx**

It was six hours later when Shawns mind came online. In a mist of pain and confusion, in which he'd thought what he'd seen and done was a dream, he moved experimentally, and discovered it was no dream. His back hurt badly, his neck and shoulder burned from bite marks, his hips were sticky. His dick was sore. An inventory of injuries incurred while....SHIT!

He lifted his head to find it in the throat of his purring lover. Her eyes were closed, but he knew her well enough to know she wasn't asleep. Just half way between sleep and waking. Her hand was under the pillow, no doubt on a knife of some sort.

Smith had returned on a roar just as loud as her motorcycle. From the moment he'd opened his front door, he'd been in a red haze of some sort. Scratches and bruises, and the knowledge that he'd cum more times in the last six hours than in the last six months. She'd exploded back into his life like a live grenade.

The kitchen table had only been the beginning. There was placemats and broken pottery on the floor there, plus they'd moved it into the hallway, then finally, the bed. He felt pain and realized he was moving where her steel banded arm was holding his waist and her gauntlet was still attached. So he tipped his face up. And she opened her eyes. The deep green looked black in the twilight. She pulled her hand out, and just as he suspected, the flame bladed anthme with it, which she resheathed. She undid the complex series of snaps and ties that held her gauntlet on, and removed it, setting it carefully in the bag.

"We gonna fight now?" She asked softly, replacing her hand on his waist and bringing them closer, using the other to play with his hair.

"I...I don't know..." Shawn croaked. His throat hurt. Alot of screaming. And he was hoarse with emotion.

He burrowed himself into the only safe place he'd ever known. Her. As dangerous as she was, he'd felt such safety with her. And he couldn't fight it. Everything just came pouring out. He wept. Openly. Fully, with no hope of stopping. The trials and stresses and tribulations. The drugs and betrayals and pain. All of it came to the surface like a wound rubbed raw. He was hurt in a pretty package, and as much as he would've like to have punched, scratched or yelled at her, he was just glad she was there. He could let go, because she was there to catch him.

Smith felt her heart break as he sobbed. Just split open and bled. Shattered into a thousand pieces. She held him, remembered her father. How he would rub her back and be as immovable as a rock when she was in pain. She couldn't tell him it was going to be okay, since she didn't know if it was, and she didn't want to lie. So she just let him get it all out, accepted the transfer of misery, because she could take it, and she owed it to him.

She rubbed downwards, and into the place where his injury was. He gasped as she explored the area. The painkillers had worn off, so her prodding was unbelievably painful.

"W...W...w...what are you doooing?" He sniffed, spasming all over. God it hurt.

"Herniated....crushed..." Smith muttered, "Displaced. You need surgery."

"I know that.....how do you?" He was shocked at how accurate she was in her knowledge of his problems, when she obviously held no doctorate.

"When your twin brother kills people for a living, you learn an awful lot about human anatomy. For instance. If I shoved my finger hard enough here," She carefully indicated his crushed disc, "It would instantly move aside to let me sever the spinal cord with just two fingers."

"Jesus....Christ." Shawn breathed.

"Don't worry, just means I can more effectively help you."

She shrugged.

"Here....we'll get you into a warm shower, then use the TENS Unit on it."

"Wait.....wait just minute," Shawn sat up and faced her, all his emotion coming back, "What the hell? Why are you talking like we're just going to..."

"Ahhh....time for the argument." Smith scented in his chest.

"Stop that....yes....you left....and you're"  
"What? Young? Dangerous? Yes, I'm all that, but I've figured a way around things."

"What's even true about you Smith?"

She sighed, turning on a lamp, illuminating the room with a low light.

"Well, my real name is Devyn St. James. They started calling me 'Smith', which was a shortened version of The Blacksmith a long time ago. If you're asking my age, I just turned 19. Yes, I'm an arms dealer. See, this is how it is..."

Smith went on to explain everything. Her family, her connections, her twin brother. She told him about the warehouse, and her job within the East Coast crime syndicates. Eventually she fell silent.

"So you see, I had no choice, not with Daniel knowing too much. I couldn't be sure just what he'd do. I had to first arrange a safety net for the both of us." She got out of bed, gloriously naked, and opened the curtains. That's when he saw it. Her hip was tattooed with a broken heart. She'd marked herself in his honor, for his pain. And he had the sudden pussy assed urge to cry again. She'd never stopped loving him.

"No, I didn't. I just....was scared for you. I could've taken care of myself, but if Daniel had decided to take revenge on me for my defiance...." She lit a cigarette and bit her lip.

Shawn had never taken into account how hard this must've been for her too.

"No matter how much it hurt either of us baby," She turned and looked at him, her profile a shadow in the growing night, "I had to keep you safe."

She looked at him, and a flash of pain crossed her eyes.

"I just had to..." She whispered, "Because I love you."

Shawn crossed the bed to stand behind her, taking the smoke from her hand and tossing it out the window. He put his hand over the tattoo on her hip, and dropped his head on her shoulder.

"I love you too.....Devyn."

"Say that again." She turned in his arms, her eyes wet and her hands in his hair.

"Which part?" He asked, and she laughed.

"My name...."

"Devyn." He said again in his low gravelly voice. The smooth Texas drawl spread her birth name with honey. She smirked.

"Remember I'm still your Mistress."

"How could I ever forget?" He smiled with heat, and wrapped his arms around her. Shawns marriage to Theresa had ended with no emotion. He hadn't really loved her anyway. But now, in the soft light of just one light and the smell of smoke and leather, Shawn kissed Smith and felt his heart wrench back into place. Their relationship made no sense to most, and never would, with lifestyles and power plays that made it a mystery with no logical solution.

**xBx**

_July 15th, 1998_

"So.....you're just.....leaving?" Hunter asked, his mouth open.

After a week of rebuilding their illogical relationship, Shawn stood in Hunter and Chynas hotel room, Smith taking up residence in a window seat, smoking and blowing it out into the night.

It had taken some work for Smith to see to their safety. She talked with Darius about it after she saw what a wreck Shawn was. Decided that come hell or high water, she was getting back to him. But they still had the family to contend with, especially Daniel. A plan was devised. Darius was to take her place, and have some of his most trusted under bosses help with the slack. But he would send the information to backup computer. The encrypted data could only be transcribed by Smith herself, If Daniel wanted his money, he would have to leave Smith and Shawn alone. So she'd packed up all her things, and packed up the rest for shipment.

Now she sat ready to take Shawn away somewhere safe.

"I have a villa in Belize. It's beautiful there. Theres a pool, and its right down by the beach. I know alot of top notch docs in Europe that in one way or another, owe me or my family favors. I'll get him the best care and he'll be happy there. Plenty of sun and surf."

'And sex' Smith added silently, her eyes catching Shawns for a moment, smiling.

"This isn't a good idea Shawn." Hunter protested, pushing back his Kangol hat. Smith smirked, that thing looked so stupid on him. "Neither is sitting at home taking pills and watching you execute a hostile takeover of booking time Hunt." Shawn deadpanned.

"So is this the way we're gonna have it Shawn? After all these years, you would begrudge me my time." Hunter winced at the reference to his new theme music.

"No, but I DO mind it being at my expense. The constant way you're going about making a name for yourself by disparaging me and my part in your success. Implying I held you down and stood in your way. Even if it IS just for affect, it hurts and I don't want any part of it anymore. But Hunter, no matter how much you subtly you put it, people are going to catch it, and theres no going back from that," Shawn sighed and picked up his navy blue blazer. "Just don't expect me to pretend that I'm alright with it. I'm through with it. And I'm through with you."

Smith smirked. She followed Shawn out of the room, taking one last look at the shocked remaining members of the once all powerful DX.

"You're lucky he's so forgiving. I wanted to scalp ya blondie." Her laughter was the last thing they heard as the door closed and that chapter of Shawns life ended.

Down in the parking garage, she came upon an under boss of Darius'. He stood next to a massive 1958 Plymouth Fury. Bloodred. Christine. Her beauty. She sighed, knowing she couldn't take her bike. She nodded at the underling, then climbed in. When her blue eyed beauty of a pet climbed in the other side and immediately slid over to be close to her, Smith knew that she was doing the right thing, and she would never regret her decision.

It was simple.

Shawn Micheals belonged to her, and she would lose him to nothing or noone. Intrusive friends, family, drugs, or fear.

**xBx**

_Epilogue _

Belize

_"Dear Darius._

_Have these files sent to the main computer. I've translated them with the cypher. Remind the Playboy and the Wonder Twins that I'll be in touch, NOT the other way around, IF they want thier money that is. Hope you got things handled. I'll return soon._

_Smith"_

_November 29th, 1999_

"I'd love to know whose ridiculous idea this was."

Smith was laying on a chaise lounge, cuddled up with Shawn, her head resting on the top of his. They were watching RAW on a TV situated on the back patio, the breeze playing havoc on thier recently heated skin.

Shier time in Belize was the best time for either of them. Finally, they were both free. The cold and the chill of their lives forgotten in the relentless Mexico sun. The beach was coated in beautiful black sand, with the waves crashing against a rock face, which provided the base for the huge villa. They spent most of their time either helping Shawn recover from his injury, making love, or swimming in the clear waters.

The doctors hired to help Shawn were flown in and they did the surgery in a secret hospital not far from the villa. The rehab took place in the villas gym, with Physical Therapists coming every other day to help him through the recovery. He was making major progress, and Smith watched his intake of the mild painkillers she gave him, keeping him from any further abuse of drugs. They used the TENS unit for its rightful purpose alot, and the swimming and sex added to the strengthening of his body. He was stronger and more fit then when he left the company, and it wouldn't be long until he was ready for a return.

They always settled in on Mondays to watch the goings on on RAW, mostly to keep Shawn in the loop. Her blue eyed pet needed it, so she indulged it. So they usually sat out on this perfect spot, enjoying the simple pleasures while the TV played the weekly show. Shawn was actually shocked when Stephanie entered the picture, and as the storylines grew darker and more intense, he always looked like he wanted to burst into Vinces office and ask him just what the hell he was thinking.

Now they watched as Stephanies "marriage" to Test was interrupted by Hunter, and Shawn let out a breath.

"I dunno," Shawn breathed out, "But it's going to be one that satisfies noone in the end."

He just shook his head and looked up into Smiths dark green eyes.

"You wanna go back huh?" She asked, running her fingers through his hair.

"Yeah I do....but it'll keep."

Smith smirked and looked down.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I'll go back and shock em all, but here is just right for me right now."

"Gee, I wonder why."

Smith caught Shawns eyes, and admired her mark tattooed on his hip, matching the space where his mark was on her. It was as close as they were ever going to get to the alter. Not that it mattered. Not at all. His real last name...she shuddered.

Not at all fair.

Not to the child the rested under where ether hands lay intertwined.

Smith sighed. She felt that her scabbed wings had healed by now. Hardened into metal by the forge of life. She wrapped them around the two as the water tinged air blew around them, and the future seemed no longer like a highway at night, but like the sun that rose from the sea at dawn.

Smith had named the villa Palacio Del Fuego, meaning Palace of Fire.

Fire for her forge

Fire of her passion Fire....

"Shawn, what do you think of the name Stephen?"

"Whatever you say Mistress." he answered sleepily.

Smiths laughter echoed over the black hills and into the starry dusk.

_"If you needed somebody, like the way that I need you, baby tonight  
If you wanted somebody, like the way that I want you (if you need somebody) I need you, I want you, I gotta tell you  
Oh The way that I need you  
And if you wanted somebody, yeah the way that I want you..."_

Words and Music by Bad Company (Holy Water - 1990)


End file.
